A Few Notes on the Desacralization of Christ in the American Church

de·sa·cral·ize(d-skr-lz, -skr-)
tr.v. de·sa·cral·ized, de·sa·cral·iz·ing, de·sa·cral·iz·es
To divest of sacred or religious significance.

For the past few days, my wife and I have been listening to episodes of Adventures in Odyssey, a radio show for children centered on a small town (called Odyssey) and an ice cream shop owner who also serves as the town's resident Christian evangelist. I first heard this show on the radio a couple of years ago and liked it, so I was excited to discover that my wife and her family have been collecting episodes for years (they have over 20 albums of audiocassettes). Not only has the character development in these episodes been strong (one of my measuring sticks for quality in an entertainment product), but my wife and I have been very pleased with the way that Bible topics are handled by the producers of the show.

Which is why we found ourselves wondering what in the world those same producers were thinking as we listened to a 2 part recreation of the birth of Christ that denuded the story of any of the major miraculous events associated with the coming of our Savior into the world and reduced it to . . . a birth as ordinary, terrifying, and uncomfortable for the mother as any childbirth could be. All of the points of interest in the Nativity--the Annunciation (the angel bringing the news to Mary that she would conceive a child), Joseph's decision to keep Mary as his wife after hearing from an angel that her conception was truly immaculate (i.e. that it took place without sexual intercourse), the appearance of the chorus of angels to the shepherds tending their flocks outside Bethlehem--were either recounted secondhand or simply omitted from the story. Even the star, that great wonder that guided the three Magi to the Christ child, was lost in the parade of inane innkeepers, predatory Roman soldiers, and mad Zealots. Ultimately, the birth of Jesus was treated simply as yet another Third World birth--in a cave, accompanied by terrified screams from the mother.

This is not a critique of Adventures in Odyssey--as I said, my wife and I love the show--but it is an example of something I find very disturbing in the way that postmodern Christianity presents Christ. With no awe, no wonder, and perhaps not even a sincere acceptance of Jesus' claims about himself, churches present Christ as a "buddy," an "ordinary guy" who, in his common-ness, is supposedly "relevant" to a culture of "ordinary guys" (and, presumably, "ordinary girls") who stumble, pee, and worry about their relationships. The lessons that we learn in many Protestant Sunday School classes, if my wide experience with Protestant churches serves, is not about the awesome qualities of God-made-flesh-dwelling-among-us but about the relevance of a particular parable or quotation from Jesus (usually taken out of context) to a "real world" situation in our own lives in which we, in essence, should be nicer than we are to others.

I'm a fan of being nice to people (in fact, my wife says--and she's right--that I'm too nice to people), but that, ultimately, is neither the message nor the heart of the New Testament. The Christ of the Gospels was more than a schoolmarm who wanted everyone in his neighborhood to be nice to each other. (Otherwise, why would generations of his followers have died--willingly--on crosses, in coliseums, and in torture chambers of every size and description?)

The crux of the New Testament, and indeed of the entire Bible, is this: Is Jesus the rightful owner of your body, mind, and soul?

A nice guy, a good teacher, even a morally inspiring public figure, may be worth my attention and may even inspire my respect, but unless he or she was responsible for creating me, I cannot consider that person to be the rightful owner of my very being. There has to be more, something that proves, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this person is indeed the rightful owner of my body, mind, and soul--not merely the artful presentation of ideas, not merely even signs and wonders, but a quality, a something that echoes throughout every cell inside me and says, with a voice of thunder, "This is he who knit me together in my mother's womb!"

When I began to read the Gospels, to really read the Gospels, I knew in my heart that when I was listening to the words of Christ, I was listening to the words of my Creator. It is not something I can explain--it just was. This man who walked on the Earth 2000 years ago and taught and healed and blessed as many poor, indigent, and lost souls as he could get his hands on owned me.

I wish that so many more people, indeed so many more churches, would rediscover this amazing quality of wonder and joy that I have in my life now whenever I hear even the name "Jesus." To some of you, that may seem childlike or even naive, and if so, perhaps you would do well to read the following:

At that time the disciples came to Jesus and asked, "Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?"

He called a little child and had him stand among them, and he said: "I tell you the truth, unless you change and become like little children, you will never enter the kingdom of heaven. Therefore, whoever humbles himself like this child is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven."

Matthew 18:1-4

It is this childlike sense of awe and wonder, this innocent submissiveness, that postmodern American churches, by and large, have failed to foster. When, after all, was the last time that you heard an inspiring message on the raising of Lazarus from the dead? Or the healing of a woman who had suffered hemorrhages for 12 years? Or the raising of the synagogue leader's little girl from the dead? I am dismayed at the possibility that, until the production of The Passion of the Christ (a movie produced, incidentally, by a Roman Catholic), many lifelong Protestants in the United States could not bring themselves to grasp the horror and wonder of the Cross. (Indeed, I fear that a large portion of American Christians walked into theaters and reacted with evaluative judgments regarding the "accuracy" of the film . . . much as the Judean crowds, soldiers, and Pharisees reacted to the real thing with evaluative judgments of Christ Himself.)

Again, this is not a commentary--favorable or otherwise--on a Christian entertainment product (personally, I found The Jesus Film to be far more compelling, spiritually and cinematically), but it is a commentary on the rather un-childlike way with which we approach Christ, his Bible, and his Church. A 4 year-old receives the wonder of the birth of Christ into the world--the chorus of angels, the fulfillment of prophecy, the star and the wise men--with all the wide-eyed gladness it is due . . . but the 40, 50, and 60 year-olds who are busily telling the story seem to have lost that wide-eyed gladness in themselves.

Is it because we are caught up in the cynicism of a workaday world in which people "compete" with each other for goods and services? Are we stupid enough to believe that our salaries, our mortgages, and our material wants are worth revolving our lives around? Do we honestly think that the wonder-filled joy of a child is somehow "beneath" us?

How sad.